


i'll crawl home to you

by darlingargents



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blow Jobs, Guilt, Hand Jobs, M/M, Protectiveness, Sibling Incest, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23133451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/pseuds/darlingargents
Summary: When my time comes aroundLay me gently in the cold dark earthNo grave can hold my body downI'll crawl home to youVictor wakes up one morning, head aching, mouth tasting like booze and too much sleep, knowing in his bones that something is very wrong.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Protective Older Brother/Little Brother Who Was Recently Turned Into a Vampire
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31
Collections: Teratophilia Trade 2020





	i'll crawl home to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plastics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastics/gifts).



> Title and summary adapted from Work Song by Hozier.

Victor wakes up one morning, head aching, mouth tasting like booze and too much sleep, knowing in his bones that something is very wrong.

He doesn’t remember the night before, but he’s in his own bed — it can’t be _that_ bad. But the feeling of dread grows and grows as he sits up and tries to find his phone. He finds it under his pillow, and it’s at one percent when he presses the home button. Before he can do anything, the screen goes black and blinks a red charging symbol.

“Shit,” he mumbles, and grabs for his charger. When the phone is charging again, he gets out of bed, grabs a shirt and sweatpants off the floor, and goes to look for Simon.

He always does, and he always will. No matter what, he’s always thinking about Simon, about where he is and what he’s doing and how he can keep him safe. From the moment their father died, when Victor was twelve and Simon was days from being six, and their mother started to pull away, Victor knew it was on him to keep Simon safe. He’d taken Simon up to his bedroom during the reception after the funeral and held him as he’d cried, while their mother was socializing. It had solidified: it was his job, his and his alone, to keep Simon safe.

He’s done his best ever since. His best isn’t enough, but he has to hope it’s _something_.

And right now, his sixth sense — the part of him that’s constantly worried about Simon — is on high alert.

As he goes down the hall to Simon’s room, he tries to both rationalize and remember. Simon is probably fine — and what happened last night? The most logical explanation is the usual — their mother was working late, so he’d stayed home and watched something on Netflix with Simon. But he doesn’t usually get so drunk at home, especially not with Simon around.

Still failing to remember when he gets to Simon’s door, he knocks, and waits for a long, agonizing moment, until a quiet voice calls out, “Come in.”

Inside is the usual — a mess of homework and clothes and nerdy posters on every wall. Simon is sitting on the bed, dressed from the night before in jeans and a shirt for some band Victor’s never heard of. He’s sitting totally still, and it’s strange enough that Victor pauses at the door, just looking at him in surprise.

“What’s up?” Simon asks. He sounds totally normal.

“What happened last night?” Victor manages. It sounds awful and irresponsible, but—

“Some of your friends came over, you guys got hammered. I went out for a walk. Some weird-ass guy grabbed me out of nowhere.”

“What?” Victor sees the shadow of a bruise on Simon’s neck, and can’t stop himself from getting closer to look, sitting down on the bed beside Simon. There’s two puncture wounds in the middle of the bruise. “Did he fucking _bite_ you?”

“I guess.”

“What the hell, Simon? Are you okay? Why didn’t you get me?”

“You were passed out on the couch. I helped Chad or whoever carry you back to your room.”

Embarrassment, hot and sharp, spikes at Victor’s stomach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“I’ve seen you in lots of ways,” Simon says, matter-of-fact, like he always is. Victor feels something worse than embarrassment at that. (Shame, he supposes. Like embarrassment, but much deeper. When you know you’ve done more wrong than you can ever repair.)

“Well,” Victor says after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “I need to go shower, and then I can make some breakfast? Do you want pancakes, or—”

“I’ll get breakfast started,” Simon says, and stands. He pushes past Victor and into the hallway, and Victor hears him walking down the stairs. Quiet footsteps — they both learned that early on, after Dad’s death — but Victor can still hear them.

Victor always does.

He showers and brushes his teeth and pops an Advil for his headache, and he’s feeling a little more human again when he goes downstairs. The smell of chocolate chip pancakes is overwhelmingly delicious, even in Victor’s mildly hungover state.

“Thanks, Si,” he says as he gathers plates and utensils and cups. Simon flips another perfectly-done pancake onto a stack of them as Victor pours them both a glass of orange juice and gets out the maple syrup and chocolate sauce and various jams. This Sunday morning ritual is familiar, and it lulls Victor into a feeling of safety. He can almost forget that feeling in his gut that something was terribly wrong.

Until, that is, when they both have a full plate of pancakes and Simon takes his first bite. His cool facade cracks; he chokes on it, and runs to the sink to spit it out, retching. Victor jumps up, his own plate abandoned, to rub his back or hold him — anything to make it better or at least more bearable.

“Fuck,” Simon mumbles, mouth still half-full of pancake. “I can’t — oh, god—”

“Spit it out,” Victor says as soothingly as he can manage. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but it seems clear enough that there’s something wrong. “Here—” He grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it up with tap water. “Swish this.”

Simon grabs the glass and takes a gulp of it, swishes it around his mouth, and spits the last few chunks of pancake into the sink. He coughs, takes another sip of water for good measure, and leans his head against the sink.

“So…” Victor says when the silence feels a bit too big. “Uh, that guy that bit you, did he also…”

“Yeah, he shoved something into my mouth. Must’ve been his blood.”

“And you’ve—”

“Been inside since, feel like I’m dying, all that good stuff.”

“So you’re turning into a vampire.” Somehow, as horrible as this feels, Victor feels almost completely calm. This is a crisis. Helping his brother through a crisis is what he’s always done. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

*

As it turns out, there’s a lot of information online.

Victor eats the last of his pancakes absentmindedly as he reads on his laptop and Simon cleans up the rest of the kitchen. Officially, you’re supposed to report attacks immediately, in order to reverse it, if at all possible (Simon’s past that point — six hours) and, if not, to set you up with a blood card, so you get fed without having to kill anyone or drink without permission. That gets you sent straight to prison.

There’s a lot of vampire technology now, as it turns out — special sunscreen to go out on cloudy days, or sunny ones for a short time. Surgeries to let you eat human food, after about ten years of vampirism. It doesn’t seem like that bad of a life.

Victor has to convince himself of that, it seems, because the idea of his brother — his Simon — suffering for eternity is too horrifying for him to even think about. He’d get himself turned first, if only to give Simon a companion for those long, long years.

He recaps the information to Simon once he’s done his research, and he looks thoroughly unimpressed. Though Simon often does. He thanks Victor for the research, and disappears into his room.

Victor wonders, briefly, if he should follow, before reminding himself that Simon needs time. It’s a big thing to go through. He needs space.

*

Simon doesn’t come out for the rest of the day. He texts Victor to say that he’s fine, and Victor listens at the door long enough to hear him on headset playing a video game, so he’s inclined to believe him. He goes to sleep feeling better than he expects.

He wakes up an indeterminate time later with someone next to him.

His first, muddled thought is to wonder when he hooked up with someone. Then his eyes start to adjust and he realizes that it’s Simon.

“Si?” he asks blearily, reaching to turn on his lamp. A hand closes around his wrist before he can reach it.

“I can see,” Simon says. His voice sounds wrong, somehow.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Victor asks. It’s been years since Simon crawled into his bed for comfort. He doesn’t mind, really, but—

He wishes Simon were at a less intimate angle. He can feel every line of Simon’s body against his.

“No,” Simon says, and lets go of Victor’s wrist. It almost aches from the phantom pressure of his fingers. “I needed you.”

“I’m always here, Si—”

Simon kisses him.

It’s so surprising that Victor’s brain seems to short out. He’s not aware of anything but a pair of lips pressed to his, and he starts to kiss Simon back before his brain kicks back in. His brother — that’s his brother, his little brother—

He pushes Simon away, and in the dark, he can’t see Simon’s face. He scrambles for the lamp and gets it on this time, flooding the room with dim light.

Simon looks pale and tired and on the verge of death — since he is. The transformation should be starting in earnest soon. And he looks like Simon, like Victor’s little brother, and he doesn’t look like the person that just kissed him.

“What was that?” Victor manages after a long moment.

“I’m about to die,” Simon says, and Victor feels it like a punch to the gut. Turning into a vampire isn’t death, but — it’s close enough. His heart will stop beating. He’ll never age.

He won’t be human anymore.

“And,” Simon continues after a moment, “I want you. I always have. And you want me, too.”

“No,” Victor says, “no, that’s not—” And then he stops.

It’s something he’s taught himself never to think about, to push to the back of his mind until it falls away completely, until Simon was grown up and moved away and safe from him. The dreams, ever since Simon hit fifteen and shot up and filled out, becoming a man in a matter of months.

Victor had taken care of him like he’d always had, and he’d dreamed of him.

It’s the deepest, most hidden part of him, a shame that he’ll never forget as long as he lives. That proves to him, somehow, that there’s something wrong with him — that his brain is sick, that the sooner Simon gets away, the better.

But Simon wants him too.

He thinks that, and when Simon kisses him again, he closes his eyes and kisses back.

Just once. Just the once, and then Simon will become a vampire and have his own life and won’t need Victor anymore.

The thought of that is almost infuriating; he sits up more, takes Simon’s face in his hands, and opens his mouth into the kiss. If he’s going to do this — this thing from which he can never return — he’s going to make it worth every damn moment. Simon will be _his_ , if only for this one night.

Simon’s mouth is still warm, but when Victor sweeps his tongue inside, he feels sharpness; his teeth are already growing. He pulls back his tongue before he nicks it, and pushes Simon down, positioning himself on top. Simon’s hands thread into his hair and pull and Victor bites his bottom lip, lightly, and moves down.

Simon’s not wearing a shirt, which makes it easier. Victor bites a hickey into the curve of Simon’s shoulder, and another on his chest by his nipple, and Simon watches him do it. When he looks up, Simon’s eyes are bright and he’s grinning like a maniac. Like he’s won a brilliant prize.

Simon takes the pauses as a challenge, and sits up, flipping Victor over with ease. That’s another symptom, Victor thinks as he thuds down on his back. His little brother tossing him around like a rag doll. That’s a new one. He grabs the waistband of Victor’s sweatpants and pulls them down to his knees. Victor’s not wearing underwear, like he usually does when he’s sleeping alone, and Simon pauses when Victor’s sweatpants have been tossed aside, looking hesitant for the first time.

Victor opens his mouth to say something, though he’s not sure what — something comforting, maybe, or asking Simon to take his own underwear off so that they’re equally naked — but Simon just swallows, his throat bobbing in the faint lamplight, and ducks his head down to take Victor’s cock into his mouth.

The tight pressure is instantly overwhelming. Victor’s head falls back against his pillow as Simon starts to suck, hesitant at first and more confidently as he goes along. He’s a fast learner, in this and everything else — Victor feels prouder of him than he ever has, which is probably very fucked up. He lifts a hand to bury in Simon’s hair, and Simon hums contentedly deep in his throat, the sound vibrating down Victor’s cock. It takes all his self-control to stop himself from pushing his hips up into Simon’s face.

Victor manages to control himself, and tightens his fist around Simon’s hair, as Simon gets bolder and bolder, pulling off to lick down the shaft and get his hand around the part that he can’t get to with his mouth. He licks the tip of Victor’s dick, quick and soft, and Victor groans.

It doesn’t take long for Victor to get to the edge. He gives a sharp tug of Simon’s hair and says, “I’m close, Si,” and Simon doesn’t pull off, just looks up at him for a moment and gets back to work, his hand and tongue in tandem, until Victor’s hips jerk and he comes harder than he can ever remember, down Simon’s throat.

Victor collapses down as Simon pulls off, feeling utterly wrung out and the first creeping bits of horrible shame in his gut. His brother — his little brother—

Who, going by the tenting in his boxers as he climbs up beside him, still hasn’t gotten off.

Victor shoves aside any shame threatening to suffocate him, and gets to it.

“Take those off,” he says, and Simon complies instantly, pulling them off and tossing them aside. Victor fumbles in his bedside table drawer for lube and squirts some onto his hand, slicking it up, before wrapping it around Simon’s dick. It’s actually longer than his, thin and just a little curved and very, very pretty.

“You have a pretty dick,” he says, because right now he’s not in very good control of his mouth, and Simon smiles. His lips are red and swollen and it sends a thrill of heat to Victor’s core to remember that those same lips were just wrapped around his cock.

He has to look away, because it’s horribly distracting to keep staring at Simon’s lips, and focuses on getting him off, sliding his slick fist up and down as Simon whimpers softly and moves with it. He can tell Simon’s fuse is short, so when Simon manages to whisper, “Victor, I’m gonna…” he leans up to sink his teeth into the curve of Simon’s neck, and feels the pulse of rushing blood under his teeth. Still alive, for now.

Simon gasps and comes in spurts over his chest, and falls bonelessly against Victor. Victor releases his neck and presses a kiss there. They just lay there, sticky and gross and tired, for a long moment, and then Simon laughs. The sound is such a relief that Victor finds himself laughing too, even though he’s already feeling the slow creep of guilt, the post-sex clarity that reminds you of exactly what you did.

“Thank you,” Simon says, and Victor reaches up to run his clean hand through Simon’s hair.

“Any time.”


End file.
